Accidentally in Love
by madaboutalice123
Summary: "Well I didn't mean to do it, but there's no escaping your love". Because sometimes, it is an accident. A group of one-shots under the same roof.
1. Chapter 1

AN - Hi all. This fic is going to be a series of one-shots, grouped together for ease of posting. Each chapter is a stand alone fic, based on a scene or moment from an episode. Each one (in my mind) is linked to a song or lyric, which will appear in italics.  
Hope you enjoy, and please leave a review or message, I love hearing from people :) A x

* * *

202

_Come on, come on  
Move a little closer,  
Come on, come on  
I want to hear you whisper,  
Come on, come on  
Settle down inside my love._

_(Accidentally in Love - Counting Crows)_

They stood face to face, illuminated in the soft yellow glow of old fashioned street lamps, cold night air brushing past them.  
"What d'you want to say Clive?"  
He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and in that moment his phone trilled, a sharp ring shattering the quiet.  
"Fuck, sorry," he looked at the screen, the same name flashed up as it had not thirty seconds before when he had ignored it.  
"You should probably get that," she said, and he nodded, stopped the ringing and held the phone to his ear.  
"Hi, George," he turned away from her, taking a couple of paces out of their pool of light.  
For a moment Martha looked the other way, then back to him, and with a wry twist of her lips and shake of her head she tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat and started to walk up the cobbled street alone.

A few paces in a circle and he realised she had walked away; could see her, all in black, barely silhouetted against the dark night. He could hear words coming out the phone but they weren't registering with him, the voice on the other end was asking him something but he couldn't formulate a reply. Briefly he closed his eyes, ran a hand through his hair, his mind not at all on the phone-call he was supposed to be partaking in.  
"I, uh, sorry, I can't. Not tonight, I've got to go. Yeah, bye," his words were mumbled, unsure, as he stuttered out something into the phone, hung up and then shoved the item in his pocket.  
He was striding up the hill then, briefcase swinging at his side, "Marth, Martha!"  
She stopped, her slow steps hadn't taken her across the street yet, turned slightly to see him following her but made no other movement. He caught up to her, a pace past her so they were mimicking their original positions. Her eyes questioned him silently, an unspoken repetition of her earlier words, her question still unanswered.  
"I think..." Clive paused, struggling for words; he could speak easily, words flowing, when he was in court talking for other people, "I think, I wanted to say..." he let out a huff of air, "Oh, fuck it..."  
One fluid movement and his hand was curled around the back of her neck, his fingers threaded through her hair and his lips were against hers. Surprised, Martha was motionless for a second but then his kiss was insistent and so consuming that all she could do, all she wanted to do, was kiss him back. He was warm, pressed against her in the cold air and her own hands moved to hold him closer as he deepened the kiss.  
Briefly they pulled apart, eyes fluttering open and their breath puffing out into the cold night. Blue eyes met blue as Clive held her gaze; watched hers close again as he drew impossibly nearer, dipping his head for another kiss. Stood in the dark, wrapped around each other, their mouths danced and they drank each other in.

The obnoxious sound of a car horn startled them both and pulled them out of their bubble. The black car slowed as it passed them and the figure inside raised a hand before speeding up and disappearing into the night.  
"Who was that?"  
Clive shrugged, "No idea. Doesn't matter".  
His arm was still around her and he slid it up to wrap around her shoulders, pressed a kiss to her temple and slowly they turned to continue their way up Shoe Lane.  
They reached the top of the road and came to a halt; both slightly uncertain of whether they were turning left towards the pub or right towards the tube station, together or alone. Clive glanced at her, and under his gaze she bit her lip, "Me too," she spoke softly.  
He frowned, unsure of her meaning, and she said "I think, I wanted...", smiling as she borrowed his earlier words.  
The arm around her reflexively tightened as he understood what neither of them were saying aloud yet.  
"I've got wine at home," he offered; an invitation, a veiled question and he was almost afraid to hear her answer.  
Her nod was sharp, decisive, and if he was surprised at how readily she agreed it didn't show on his face. He kept glancing across at her as they continued walking, his arm still holding her against his side, and she caught his eyes, "What?"  
He shook his head with a smile, looking as though he was keeping, or possibly sharing, a secret "Nothing".  
Martha raised one eyebrow at Clive, lips quirking up to smile with him, "Yeah, ok".


	2. Chapter 2

205

_One moment in her presence and you can forget the rest_  
_For the girl is second best to none, son_  
_Oooh! Sigh! Give her your attention_  
_Do I really have to mention, she's the one_

_(One - A Chorus Line)_

* * *

"You're jealous, aren't you?" Martha exclaimed, "My god, Clive Reader, jealous," she shook her head, slightly incredulous look in her eyes.

* * *

"Beer or wine?" Clive asked, turning from the kitchen to look at her.  
She had kicked her shoes off and tucked one leg beneath her as she sat on the sofa, skirt bunched up to mid-thigh underneath the notepad resting on her legs. Her blonde hair was ruffled, shirt sleeves shoved up to her elbows, make-up all but worn off; definitely untidier than usual. He still thought she was gorgeous. It was nearing 9pm after a long, warm day and now she was starting work on his tribunal.  
"Beer's good," Martha said.  
He uncapped two bottles, cold from the fridge, and carried them to the coffee table, letting them go with a dull clunk. She reached forward to take one, throwing him a smile and drinking with a relieved sigh.  
Clive studied her subtly, the knot that had been sitting in his stomach since the previous day slowly abating as he watched her put the bottle down, stretch and look over at him.  
He hated it when she was right.  
Of course, when she was right about work, it usually meant he was wrong and that was frustrating in itself; but when she was right about other things, that was possibly worse. He wondered if she knew, or whether she had just been guessing when she teased him the previous day. He had tried to fight back, covering the truth by taunting her that she liked the new pupil, but she hadn't taken his bait. She rarely did; she was too good at ignoring him when she wanted to, mostly when he was annoying her. Sometimes he did it for fun, playing, teasing, just to see if she would rise or fight back. Occasionally she did; giving as good as she got, words accompanied by glinting eyes and broad grin or laugh. Those moments always got him; for a few minutes she was all his, her attention on no one but him and he revelled in it. He knew it was ridiculous; someone of his age so wound up by jealousy over a girl he couldn't even bring himself to admit he liked. It was petty and stupid and every time she drank with another man or, god help him, flirted, he could feel something welling up in his chest, tight and difficult to breathe.

Feet sounded on the metal stairs, muffled thuds as Martha re-entered the lounge, "More beer?" she asked, pausing by the kitchen area.  
"Yes, please," Clive looked up as she opened the fridge, "Opener's by the sink".  
He let his eyes roam over her as she stood with her back to him; couldn't help but notice her stockings hooked over her fingers as she opened beer bottles and carried them to the sofa. She handed him a bottle and put hers down to shove the stockings in her handbag before sitting down. Slumping back on the cushions and stretching her legs out, toes wiggling, Martha sighed, "Nearly eleven, how is it still so warm?"  
Distracted by her bare legs resting next to his on the rug, Clive didn't answer until she bumped his calf with her foot, "Sorry, what?"  
She laughed, "Doesn't matter. Where did you go?"  
Clive shrugged, fighting the heat that threatened to creep across his face, and the desire to press his leg closer to hers, "Not sure really."  
A ringing sound floated out from her bag, and she rummaged to find her phone, glancing at the screen before answering, "Hello...?"  
"Oh, good work...yeah, tomorrow's fine. No, no, that's ok...yeah, ok. See you tomorrow...bye," the conversation was brief and she was soon tucking the phone away again, picking up her drink.  
"Work?" Clive asked, internally wincing as he did so. He knew perfectly well who had been on the other end of the phone; wasn't sure why he even asked, he didn't really want to hear it said aloud.  
"Yeah, Daniel," she replied, absentmindedly picking at the label on the bottle between sips, "Found something. Bloody keen but at least it's useful".  
He snorted, "Yeah, keen on you. Or the other way round".  
Martha turned towards him on the sofa, "Sometimes, Clive, you're bloody ridiculous. You know that's not true. And even if it was, why would it matter?"  
She had caught him. Eyes held him captive and he didn't know how to respond, not without letting his secret out. His silence spoke volumes to her, and the look in her eyes and on her face changed from irritated to surprised and then something like understanding.  
"You are, aren't you?" the question was quiet, an affectionate lilt to the words.  
"What?" he pretended not to understand, tone still slightly sharper than usual.  
Her eyes narrowed, refusing to say the word, and he looked away, equally stubbornly refusing to answer her.  
"Just say it Clive," she waited but nothing came; she wasn't surprised, "Fine, I will. You're being childish and it doesn't suit you. He's not keen on me. I am certainly not keen on him". Her words were sharp, but full of meaning and he could barely take it in. Slowly he turned back to her, taking in the challenging eyes and smirk on her face, "Get it now?"  
He took a deep breath, a drink, and paused before answering, "Got it. I'm a jealous idiot, and you don't like Daniel".  
The smirk widened into a proper smile, "Finally," she drew the word out and rolled her eyes, but there was no bite, "Now, maybe you could get another drink and we could talk about it like the adults we're supposed to be?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - Another little snippet for you. Enjoy!

A x

* * *

204

_Now you see life_  
_These colors shimmering around you_  
_You must decide_  
_To risk your heart for love to find you_

_Hey, don't falter_  
_You know we ought to be together_  
_Strange, I saw ya_  
_I sorta knew it was for ever_  
_(Don't Falter - Mint Royale)_

Billy disappeared into the darkness, followed by two sets of eyes until they could see him no more. They were quiet, not needing to speak. Shoulders rested against each other, as did elbows and knees. She smoked and tried not to think about her day; he studied his shoes and was angry about his. Eventually Martha moved, dropping the cigarette to the floor and pressing her shoe over it, gathered her bag and stood up, "Come on, we both need a drink," she held out a hand to him, "Unless you're meeting the future Mrs Reader?"  
The ghost of a smile lightened his face and he stood, shook his head and took her hand, tucking it through his arm. Their silence continued, comfortable as they walked.

CW and two other barristers they knew were drinking at a corner table, and Martha raised a hand in greeting as they made their way to the bar.  
"I don't really..." Clive started.  
"I know, nor me," she said, "Find a table, I'll get a bottle".  
He nodded and disappeared into the melee of people while she edged her way to the bar.  
The barman knew her and nodded, "How many glasses?"  
She held up two fingers, "Bottle, merlot please".

He poured, pushed a glass towards her and picked the other up, "Thanks".  
She nodded, took a drink and fixed him with a knowing look, "So, prosecution..."  
Clive's head dropped, falling forward as though he was going to rest on the table; she heard him sigh and waited for him to speak.  
"It just, I don't know...it feels right, you know?" His head was still bent, eyes staring unseeingly at the tabletop.  
Martha considered him across the table, "Why d'you look so defeated then? If that's what you want..." She drank as she waited for his reply, sipping the red that she knew was his preference.  
Eventually he looked up, "You're right. It's just what it means, to everyone else".  
"Like...?" she was pushing him, making him talk and confront his feelings; knowing he would just try to bury it all and carry on if she let him off, "Come on, it's me, I'm not going to judge you".  
He scoffed, "You're the only one".  
"I'm the only one who's sat here," Martha pointed out, "I'm the one who's listening, and not judging, and I'm the one who'll still..." she stopped short, drank and then carried on, "Who'll still be here, whatever you say or decide".  
Chin in one hand he studied her, wondering what she had been about to say; her eyes were guarded, face closed. He knew she wouldn't say anything if he asked, adamant that they were talking about him, not her.

"Would you defend me?" Clive eyes held hers across the table and there was an unusual vulnerability in his expression.  
Teasing words were on the edge of her tongue, but they died there as she saw how conflicted he was. "If you needed me to," Martha's voice was gentle, "You know I always will".  
Two bottles of wine had softened them, made it easier to talk freely, and they were both on the way to drunk when they probably should have been on the way home. Clive had ignored four phone calls from George and Martha had tried not to notice; she had failed.  
"It's shouldn't be like that," she said, "Not for something like this. You shouldn't have to defend yourself, explain maybe, but it isn't a fight. It's a choice, your choice, and people should let you do what makes you happy. If it's something they don't like, then it's not your problem, it's theirs".  
A smile had slowly crept over his face, previous worry and concern wiped out. "You're doing it anyway".  
"Oh shuttup," but she smiled back.  
After a pause, in which she emptied the last of the second bottle of red into their glasses, he asked, almost nervously, "What would you say?"  
"About what?"  
"Me, just prosecuting?" He clarified, and took a drink so he didn't have to look at her.  
Her gaze rested on him anyway and she said carefully "If it's what you want, then do it, just make sure you're certain. I'll always support you, and..." she stopped, and again he wondered what she might have been about to say, "It's probably not me you should be asking though".  
He didn't need to ask what she meant, but did anyway, and received a pointed look in response, but no words.  
"You're the person I trust most in the world," he threw caution to the wind and carried on, "Hell, you're the most important person in the world to me Marth. Bugger family, anyone else, it's been you since the day I won that moot competition when we were pupils and you hugged me and said you were proud of me. You knew how much it meant to me, and you cared," he could see the memory still; she had wrapped her arms around him, just reaching his shoulders, and whispered in his ear, a pleased grin on her face. They had proceeded to go out and get drunk at two o'clock in the afternoon, spent the rest of the day and most of the evening bowling around London and had walked back to chambers hand in hand. He had kissed her mouth rather than her cheek when they said goodnight and went separate ways in taxis.  
"You were prosecuting then," Martha said softly.  
Clive nodded, "Yes. And nearly twenty years later I'm back where I started".

They weren't the last people to leave The Crown, but there were very few left when they did tumble on to the street. Automatically, they turned towards chambers and started to walk slowly down Shoe Lane. Martha's heel caught on the cobbles and he reached an arm around hers to steady her, "Ok?"  
She nodded, settled her bag on her shoulder again, "Yeah, thanks. Bloody cobbles".  
"Not the wine at all," he teased as they continued to walk, and she realised that the warmth she felt was his hand around hers.

Martha turned to face him as they stopped outside chambers, released his hand to hold both his arms. "Whatever you decide, if you only want to prosecute, then just go for it. Sod everyone else, do what you want. I'll always be on your side Clive, and if you need me, I'm here, you know that". She leaned in to kiss him, a brief brush of lips that barely lasted seconds.  
"Nearly twenty years later..." Clive whispered.  
"And we're still doing the same thing," she said, "Aren't we?"  
"We don't have to be," his kiss was firmer than hers had been, but no longer, "You don't need to defend yourself against me Martha".  
It was easier for them to speak in riddles, law language, than it was to say exactly what they meant, and still they understood each other implicitly.  
Her voice was low, and there was almost a stutter when she answered, "I don't think I've got a defence. Not against you".  
She kissed him again, properly; pressing into him, arms around him and fingers stroking his face. He let her lead, but followed her as she fell deeper into it, gentle and passionate and wanting all at once.  
"Are you pleading guilty then? I didn't think Martha Costello ever pleaded," he murmured, breathless and smiling as they parted.  
"Depends on the charge," she returned, tone light and flirtatious.  
Clive challenged her, leaning in almost close enough to kiss but holding back, resisting the temptation to press his lips to hers once more to see what she would do. When she closed the gap in another all too brief kiss, he smiled, "Terrible defence".  
"Mmm, I'm not sure yours is that good either".  
"Ahh, but it doesn't matter, if I'm a prosecutor," Clive said, taking her hand again and leading her away from chambers and across the courtyard.  
"Defence and prosecution," Martha mused, "Who'd have thought?"  
He squeezed her fingers, "I can't think of a better partnership".  
A contented sigh drifted from her, "No, nor can I".


	4. Chapter 4

AN - Another little one-shot, hope you enjoy.

* * *

106

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now.  
Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now.  
And I don't know how I can do without.  
I just need you now.  
_(Need You Now - Lady Antebellum)_

She didn't know how long she had laid there; crying, dozing and just thinking in her room as the light slowly faded and the shadows lengthened. When she rolled over, wincing as her clothes tightened around her stomach, the clock read 23:19, but she couldn't remember what time she had got home. The day was a blur. A packet of painkillers sat on the bedside table, some unpronounceable medical words printed on the box next to her name; she hadn't taken any, the box was still pristine and the glass of water next to it was untouched. The silence was suddenly overwhelming and the darkness too close; Martha slowly shifted off the bed and stood, slightly unsteady for a second before moving to turn the light on. Light made her feel a little safer, although from what she couldn't say, and she padded through her flat, flicking lights on she as went until every room was lit. Her handbag and coat lay in a pile on the table and automatically she started to tidy them away; coat by the front door, keys in the dish on the hall table, wallet and phone on the coffee table and handbag beneath the hall table. A bell-like sound made her jump, heart thumping until she realised that it came from her mobile and snatched up the item. The screen showed four text messages and four missed calls, no voicemails. She systematically scrolled through; two calls from work and one each from Billy's mobile and home number. There were texts from Billy, Clive and Nick, and one from a number she didn't have saved, but turned out to be Kate when she read it. Billy's was typically him, caring but fairly to the point, Nick's was slightly childish but sweet, and Kate's was remarkably soft, considering how sharp the barrister could be. Martha left Clive's until last, she almost didn't want to read it, and for a minute she avoided doing do, pouring a glass of water and drinking, then refilling it before actually opening the message. It was short, only a few words ending with an x, but somehow, because it was him, those words meant more than anything from the others. She sat, falling heavily onto the sofa and splashing water over her leg from the glass she still held. The kitchen clock ticked, loud in the quiet flat but strangely comforting, and her thumb hovered over the screen, unsure how to reply. Eventually she gave up and put the phone down with a sigh, only to pick it up again a few seconds later. Martha read the short sentence over and over, the words the only things occupying her mind until she opened her mouth to take a breath and it came out as a sob. Her head dropped forward until she was curled up, forehead on her knees, arms tucked under her thighs and her teeth made dents in her lower lip as she tried to stifle yet more tears.

The ring was shrill against her ear and she moved the phone away from her head until the ringing was replaced by a voice, "Marth?"  
Words wouldn't form at the first attempt, and she coughed a little, tried again, "Hi". Her voice was cracked and raspy from crying and even one tiny word was an effort.  
"Martha," the repetition of her name was even more gentle and it was all she could do to hold back another sob at his voice. When she didn't answer, Clive spoke again, "Are you..." he tailed off, stupid thing to say, "Do you want me to come over?"  
She swallowed, mouth and throat dry, and managed to answer, "Yes. Please. If that's..."  
"Of course," as soon as her name had flashed up on his phone screen he had intended on doing so, even if he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, "I won't be long".  
She managed a thank you and goodbye before hanging up, although she was unsure if the words had actually been audible.

Martha opened the door and stood aside to let him pass into the hallway, shutting and locking the door before turning and leading him to the living room. He kicked his shoes off and removed his phone, keys and wallet from his pocket, leaving them on the hall table. She stood in the middle of the lounge, arms folded, looking at the floor, and something inside him broke, even more than it had done earlier in the day. Clive wrapped his arms around her immobile form and after a moment she slid hers around his waist, fingers clutching at his t-shirt, face pressed against his chest. He could feel her tears before he heard her cry; muffled sobs that only served to make her gasp for breath and him squeeze his eyes shut against tears that came anyway.

Eventually tears stopped falling and she loosened her grasp on him, pulling back enough to look up at him. His cheeks were wet and she raised both hands to wipe the teardrops away, fingers briefly caressing his face. She did the same to her own tears; her hands brushed roughly over her eyes and nose, reddening them even more. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she stepped fully away, her voice gravelly when she asked, "Drink?"  
Clive felt the loss of contact more than he anticipated, arms dropping loosely to his sides, and he nodded, "Yeah, ok".  
"Tea, coffee? Water?" she hovered by the kitchen counter, "Something stronger?"  
"Uh, water," he decided, "Or maybe something else".  
The ghost of a smile crossed her face, he was always indecisive, and she ran cold water from the tap, pushing a glass across the counter to him before opening a cupboard and pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two short tumblers. Martha poured more than a measure into each glass and carried them to the sofa. He sat next to her, a few inches of cushion between them and took the glass she held out with a nod. Silence descended once again, and they were wrapped in their own thoughts. Being together helped, the enormous feeling of loss and helplessness kept slightly at bay by company, and the knowledge that they weren't alone. Clive gently rested one hand against her knee and she twisted her fingers through his, shifting closer to lean her head on his shoulder.  
"I'm sorry," her voice was tired and surprising in the quiet flat.  
He shook his head, "Don't, Marth. You have nothing to be sorry for. What happened, none of that was your fault. He's a vile man, who did a horrible, cruel thing, and there's no way it was your fault. You don't need to say that". Clive put his drink down and wrapped both hands around hers, "Don't think there was anything you could have done, because there wasn't. Me, god, I should have done something, followed you, stopped him even talking to you. I could have done something," he couldn't look at her, grief and anger flowing out of him, "I should have done something. Fuck. I'm sorry. I should have been there with you, paid more attention".  
Martha was surprised by his outburst, had never entertained the idea that he would feel like that. It had happened to her, and in her mind that made her responsible, regardless of how realistic that actually was.  
She didn't raise her head to speak, but her voice was a little more animated that it had been, "No, there's no way you could have done anything. Nothing could have changed what happened," she felt the movement of his jaw against her hair and carried on, not letting him speak, "It's not your fault. I know I'll always blame myself, at least partly, for it, but that's me, it happened to me and I couldn't do anything to save...anything. It doesn't matter whether you were twenty feet away or two hundred, you couldn't have changed what happened. No one could, that's how it will always be. I will never blame you Clive".  
A few hot tears escaped his eyes, and for the possibly the first time in his life, he was unashamed. He let them fall and she didn't pass judgment as she felt them on her hair. Her words seeped into him, and like her, he knew he would always blame himself, even if she wouldn't.

The bottle of whiskey hadn't been full when she took it from the cupboard, but it now sat empty on the coffee table, their glasses held the final measures. Conversation had been stilted at first, not because they weren't used to each other, but because of the situation and feelings that were still so raw, but as time went on they could talk more easily, although they mostly avoided the subject that had put them in their current position. Occasionally it crept to the surface and they cannoned between sadness and anger until one of them poured more whiskey and they washed away the moment with a drink and a fierce scrub of eyes.  
Clive stretched, legs narrowly missing the coffee table, and tried to stifle a yawn. It was nearing two o'clock, although neither of them had noticed time passing.  
"You can stay, if you want," Martha offered, drinking the last of her whiskey, "Although the spare bed's not made, so umm..." she tailed off, having not thought before she spoke.  
"I think we can manage," he said carefully, "If you're ok with it?"  
She nodded slowly and stood to clear away their glasses, rinsing them and leaving them out to dry and putting the empty bottle by the bin. Martha could tell he was being cautious with her; while a gentle, soft Clive was unusual, she was grateful for it, didn't think she could take anything more than that, and she knew that neither of them could ever be as open as they had been with anyone else.  
Holding out a hand, she tilted her head towards her bedroom, "Bed's that way, unless you want to stay there?"  
He smiled a little and shook his head, standing and taking her outstretched hand and letting her lead him through the flat; it crossed his mind that he had followed her to her room in Nottingham in a similar way, and he shook his head to get rid of the thought.

Martha tugged on pajama shorts and t-shirt and slid beneath the covers while Clive was in the bathroom, and he couldn't help but smile when he saw her; duvet pulled up to her chin, curls spread out on the pillow. She watched as he turned the main light off, leaving the room lit only by the lamp on her side of the bed, and then shed his t-shirt and sweatpants before pulling back the duvet and climbing in. The mattress shifted as he settled on his side and Martha reached over the turn the light off, returning to lie on her back, one arm on the pillow above her head. They were quiet as they lay in the dark, and she thought he had fallen asleep until she felt his hand on her hip, gentle pressure pulling her towards him. She rolled over, back against his chest, and let him tuck an arm over her and link their fingers together again, drifting to rest on her stomach.  
"We'll be ok, won't we?" he asked quietly.  
Hair ruffled on the pillow as she nodded, "Of course," just as quiet.  
A few minutes passed and he spoke again, words slightly muffled in her hair, "If it was different, if it hadn't happened, do you think we would have made something work, you and I?"  
She knew what he was asking, the same thoughts had flown through her mind at various points throughout the day and evening. "No. Yes. I don't know". At the beginning she had told him she didn't expect anything from him, but he had managed to show her that he did care, that he wanted to be a part of everything and she had begun to change her mind. "Is that what you wanted? Is it now?"  
The hand holding hers tightened as he answered, "Maybe. Yes, I think so. I know this isn't the time to say it, but yes, it was, still is. I can't help it Marth". He was unsure how she would react, if she would even say anything, half expected her to pull away and retreat to her side of the bed.  
She did pull away from him, but only to turn over so they were face to face in the darkness; a few inches separated them and she could just make out the contours of his face and shoulder and his fair hair.  
"I'm glad you said something," Martha murmured, "I've wondered too. I was so adamant at first that I was ok on my own, and I know that wasn't fair, and then you were always there, proving you actually wanted to be and I started to change my mind, see that maybe it could work, if we both wanted it".  
Clive could hear the wobble in her voice and ran his fingers down her cheek, catching a few tears as they fell. "I do want it," he whispered, "And tonight might be too soon, but if you do as well, I'll be waiting".  
More tears fell and he brushed them away; she turned under his touch so his fingers caught the edge of her mouth and he felt the lightest of kisses on his fingertips. He stilled, waiting for her, understanding what she was saying without words but unable to bring himself to do anything until he was certain. The hand that crept around his waist was warm, but the cheek and lips that pressed against his were cool and still slightly damp; it was nothing more physical than a simple kiss, her lips lingering against his.  
"Thank you," she pulled back a little, "I want to, but it needs to be slow. Even if we're both there already, I don't think I can jump straight in, not after this".  
"Of course," he promised, "It'll be ok, one thing at a time".  
Martha shifted towards him again, another barely-there kiss before she turned over again and pulled his arm back around her, "Night Clive".  
He kissed her hair and let his eyes close, "Night Marth".

"Don't get up, you don't need to, not after yesterday," Clive sat on the edge of the bed, trying to talk her into not going to work. Martha was still half asleep, protesting that she was fine and perfectly able to go to court. He could still see tear tracks on her cheeks, dark circles under eyes that were drifting closed again.  
"I know you can, but one day, come on Marth, you need it off," he was firm but gentle, straightening the covers and taking her hand, "Go back to sleep, and I'll see you later. Please, just take it easy today".  
She shot him a frown but turned on her side and gave in and let her eyes drift shut with a sigh.  
Clive was relieved, although uncertain that she would actually take the whole day off. His watch showed nearly eight, and he realised that he still needed to go home to shower and change before racing to court for ten to carry on the Mark Draper case; Kate wasn't a bad barrister at all, but he couldn't help but wonder if she would be able to do the boy justice for Martha's sake. He left a kiss on her cheek and hurried out of her flat, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him.

The curtains were closed, but light crept around them and fell on the bed, making her squint and rub her eyes as she woke up. Memories from the previous day flooded back to her and for a second she held her breath, remembering everything. When she could breathe again, it was with a sigh rather than a sob, and although it was all still raw and there was an undeniable ache in her stomach, she felt a little better and more able to face the world. Sitting up, she reached for the glass of water on the table and drank; the clock caught her eye, 11:48. For an instant Martha panicked, knowing court had started at 10am, but the thought was immediately followed by the memory of Clive telling her to stay home. She wondered if he thought she would, knew that he wouldn't be surprised if she turned up.

There was nothing stopping her going to court, other than people expecting her not to, and she had never been the type to back down from a fight, whether it was her own or someone else's. It was her biggest case, but more than that it was the fact that she was fighting for a child, a sixteen year old boy, and she wasn't about to give up on him, someone she actually had a chance of saving.

A shower, her most expensive suit and a slash of lipstick later, Martha was setting her wig on her head and sliding through the courtroom door; pale but determined and feeling ready to start moving forward. She watched as Nick spoke, proud of him, and then rejoined the bench, taking her seat next to Clive and relegating Kate to the row behind. He couldn't help the smile that crossed his face, utterly unsurprised to see her. She caught his eye, mildly apologetic look on her face for a second, and he squeezed her hand, a wave of comfort and understanding passing between them.


	5. Chapter 5

AN - A slightly more cheerful one-shot that the last. I've changed a couple of tiny things from cannon so they fit with the story, but nothing major. Hope you like it! A x

* * *

304

_I've had enough  
Of those one night stands  
I'm going for the gold that's in a wedding band  
(Don McLean - Going for the Gold)_

"He's not your husband, is 'e?" Sean tipped his head in the direction of Clive's retreating back.  
"What would you say if he was?" She couldn't help the affection that crept into her voice, nor the smile that crossed her face as she watched him disappear inside chambers.  
Sean had been joking. "Bloody hell". He looked at her, seeing both the teenage girl who broke his heart, and a woman who he knew nothing about. She had the same smile, and even though it was directed somebody else, some posh idiot, he could remember exactly why he had fallen in love with her at seventeen.  
Martha looked back to Sean , "Why are you here?"  
He shrugged, "Just passin'," took another drag on the roll-up hanging between his fingers.  
She snorted, "Yeah, right".  
"Thought I'd see how you were doin'," he smiled, fixed her with a look, "Alright, I'd say. Dressed up smart, working in there, married to someone like 'im...".  
The correction caught in her mouth and never made it past her lips, something kept the words inside and instead she said, "Really, Sean? Come on".  
Sean pushed himself off the pillar he was leaning against with a grin, "Maybe I'll see you around, Martha Costello". He dropped the cigarette on the floor, raised one hand in a brief wave, and sauntered across the courtyard, as casual as ever. She didn't turn to watch him leave.  
He had always called her by her full name, and for a time after she had left Bolton, and him, hearing both her names had made her stomach twist, guilt for leaving and a fragment of hope that it was him and he might have forgiven her; now, it made her feel nothing. It was a very different voice, a shortened version of her name, that caught her these days; a very proper, enunciating accent softening the name she had always thought was harsh.

She stood, elbows resting on the railings, smoking and gazing into the distance, and he watched her, unsure if he wanted to disturb her.  
"Marth," she turned her head as he leaned next to her, mimicking her position, fingers making a steeple where hers held a cigarette. "You ok?"  
"He thought we were married," she looked straight ahead again, catching his frown in the corner of her eye and elaborating, "Sean".  
Clive nudged her shoulder, teasing, "What did you say? Happily, with two kids and a puppy?"  
For a moment she didn't answer; there were too many things she could say, should say, wanted to say, but she didn't know how to start. "I didn't correct him," she spoke so quietly that he almost missed it.  
At any other time, his wide-eyed look of surprise would have made her laugh; he was rarely lost for words and just managed to stutter, "Jesus Marth, what?"  
Although his first words had been a joke, he couldn't keep it up, not after his declaration barely two weeks previous. They had both virtually ignored it, not speaking about it, not acting on it, and where he had thought that she was being cautious, he was starting to wonder if she felt nothing in return. Clive sighed, standing outside chambers on a Tuesday morning wasn't where he wanted to have a conversation about them and their relationship, or lack of, but it seemed to be going that way.  
Her voice pulled him from his thoughts, "Just then, I could see us as someone else might, as Sean did, without knowing anything. And it wasn't that hard to imagine, hell, it wasn't hard at all. It was easy not to say anything, I didn't have the words to correct him. It wasn't a lie because of who he is, or was, I don't care anymore. For a second, it could have been true, maybe, if it wasn't for me, it could be. I think too much, make things too hard..." she tailed off, words drying up, and tucked a wayward piece of hair behind her ear for something to do.  
"You see the good in everyone except yourself," Clive said carefully, "Sometimes, the way that looks the hardest is actually the easiest, and you've just got to take a chance and go for it, because otherwise you'll never know".  
"It's easier to tell the truth to someone it won't affect," it was as though she was thinking aloud, "It doesn't mean so much".  
Clive's voice was soft, "I know Marth, I know". He cast his mind back his silk party, how easy it had been talking to Jake, words spilling out of him; he had needed the encouragement from the younger man, someone who still saw everything so simply, to even take those few steps towards her.  
"Look at me," automatically she turned her face towards him, and he held her gaze, eyes boring into hers, "Tell me the truth, whatever it is". It was all he had left, straight talking, the only way he could think of that might get a response from her, whatever it might be. He almost didn't care what she said, anything would be better than limbo, not knowing what she was feeling or thinking; one way or the other, he needed to know where he stood.  
It took her a second to turn fully towards him, a few more for her chin to raise as though in defiance, and then she spoke, her voice far more certain than he had expected. "I didn't correct him because I liked how it sounded, and for a minute back there, no one knew it wasn't true. The truth, god, the truth is I love you but I've been too bloody frightened to say anything because we've been through things in twenty years of friendship that most people don't have to deal with in twenty years of bloody marriage and we've never got this far before, not with words. Physically, we've been there, that was easy, but god, emotionally? Verbally? We've not done that and it's so much bloody harder, however true or real it is".  
He hadn't expected that. If he was honest, he hadn't had a clue what she was going to say, but he had anticipated something far less personal or emotional than the words that had come out. He had set himself up for rejection and instead she had flung those three words back at him, along with a host of others he hadn't been expecting, and it took him a while to be able to respond.  
"Married," his tone was light, and although the subject was serious, he couldn't help but joke a little, for a second it was easier than saying something more serious, "We only kissed two weeks ago, moving rather fast aren't we?"  
"Clive," she drew his name out, a sigh and a warning.  
Slowly, carefully, he reached for her and she let herself be pulled into his embrace. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed you like that, it wasn't fair".  
Martha's arms were looped around his waist and she titled her head back to look at him, "I think I needed it. I didn't know how to bring it up after that night, I'm sorry it's taken so long. It was a lot to take in, I think I'm still getting used to it. I never thought you would..." she looked down, resting her cheek against his jacket, "My parents weren't even married two years, hardly a shining example".  
"I think we've got a fairly good start on that," Clive said after a pause, "The longest we've gone without speaking isn't even a full week, I'm pretty sure we'll manage".  
She lifted her head at his words, a confused frown etched on her face, "What are you saying?" The blue eyes looking up to his were full of questions and for a moment he wasn't sure how to answer her properly.  
"I'm saying I love you," Clive promised gently, "And maybe another day, I'll say something else you want to hear". He held her gaze until a smile hesitantly lightened her frown and he could feel it on her lips when he kissed her.


End file.
